Broken Strays
by Miradel
Summary: Teaming up with her greatest sin was something she never thought would happen. What is Harley Stone to do when her past comes to her to be 'fixed? Especially when she's also broken? Title and summary may change. Bucky/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, quick trigger warning. Not sure how this story line's gonna go yet, but there is most likely gonna be mentions of depression, PTSD, suicidal thoughts, and possibly a few other things. And this is my first every angsty story, so please don't harass me about how they should react. I am trying. And I only own noncanon characters and this plot. Slightly inspired by a that I love from a different website.**

The clock ticks audibly, and makes it one of the only sounds to be heard in the dark and dingy motel room. Anything else that's heard would be soft breathing and the soft scratching of rats. Disgusting, Harley Stone thinks to herself, but she refuses to complain. After all, it'll be stupid of her to think that she can go into hiding, yet do so in nice hotels.

Instead, she's bouncing from city to city, town to town, staying in lack luster motels that commonly are infested with rats, roaches, and termites. She had also gotten used to the stale mattresses with spring digging into her body and stiff blankets. The shower water with a sickening odor and questionable stains that seem to smear multiple areas. Not to mention the ever flickering lights and lack of proper heating or air conditioning.

These motels are normally found in areas where life was as beaten as the motels. Hookers lining the corners. Painfully skinny strays. Homelessness. Bad place to live. Perfect place to hide.

Several months before the fall of SHIELD and Hydra, this has become her life. She knew too much and had to disappear. And disappear she did. It was painful, but Harley had to do it. Had to forcibly cut ties with her family and friends, never telling them why. All she did was feed them a lot of bullshit about how she was sick of them and another whole slew of hateful things that would make them glad that she left. That made her cry once she knew she was too far to look back.

She emptied her bank accounts, destroyed any form of contact anyone could have with her, and left with only bare necessities and the clothes on her back. Anything else she needed, she brought from rest stops or stole.

It's not easy, being a woman on the road. It definitely has its dangers. Prowling men, hygienic issues, among other things. A person wouldn't believe how many times she's been offered a bed in exchange for sharing it with multiple strangers. Obviously, she never accepted, but she might have no choice if she gets in a bad situation.

Rising from her bed, Harley steps over her clutter of empty beer cans and bottles and into the connected bathroom. It may be around 3 am for all she knows, but can hardly sleep in her almost drunk restlessness. Mostly due to the fact her 'neighbor' drunkenly escorted a pair of prostitutes into his room and been having a fuck-fest ever since. They must really be going at it if the sounds of pleasured screaming and constant wall banging is any indication. She turns the faucet and stares blankly as the groans in protest before spatting out a glob of a rust colored substance. Gross.

She sighs and glances in the dirty mirror to see her reflection. What greets her first is a pair of dead, bloodshot, brown eyes that look almost sunken when seen with the dark circles and bags under her eyes. Her once warmly brown skin faded to make her look almost pale and her long black hair has seen better days. Once upon a time, she would proudly say she looks like her favorite Disney princess, Pocahontas. Now, she'll be considered nothing more than a stray in human clothing. With all that, and her crusty clothes, she's a certified mess that no longer gives a fuck.

Not about anything. Or anyone. Not even herself.

8 months ago, she'd eye just about everyone with suspicion, not wanting to be killed or captured. Now? She'd hand you the gun and let you pull the trigger as many times as you see fit. She'd do it herself, but she had accepted years ago that she's a coward. Cowardice got her in Hydra. Cowardice made her leave. Cowardice is why she's still running. Waiting for someone to end her while she runs from her mistakes. Her sins. Death would be the ultimate escape, but granting herself that privilege is something she could never do. So she lives, hoping to die.

Solitude can do that to a person. Especially when you spend that loneliness with nothing but your own self-insulting thoughts. She ruined lives, so why should hers be all fine and dandy?

Somehow, in her daze, she stumbled back into the main room and tripped over an empty bottle, landing on the floor with a thud, which she barely tries to prevent. She hardly felt any pain, only a thud against her body. She doesn't move to get up. Just lays there with no motivation to do anything.

Then, Harley registers something. A barely audible click. Not from the almost hypnotic clock on the wall, but from the door. She looks up and sees the vague silouette of a man entering the room. Probably the manager wanting to kick her out for over staying. She only paid for two days, but has been in the motel for nearly a week now.

The man stops just short of her fallen figure and looks down at her dull eyes with his hard eyes. Harley knows he looks familiar, but it's hard to tell from her position on the floor, and the flickering light bulb that swings leisurely. The man glares at her and speaks in an almost gruff tone. "Harley Stone?" The woman stays silent, the only indication that she even heard the question was slow blink in an attempt to clear her eyes that are dancing on the edge of fuzziness.

However, despite her less than acceptable appearance and negative outlook on life, she's smart. Smart enough for her slightly drunk mind to know this man isn't part of the motel staff. And he knows exactly who she is, and didn't need to ask. Either Hydra or SHIELD. He's here to kill her.

"I... need your... help." He forces out and clenched his fists. Then he kneels in front of her, giving Harley a better view of her 'visitor'. She sees his face more clearly up close. His face is peeking on the edge of her memory, yet he's a complete stranger. His scruffy face. Dirty hair. Dirty clothes. He's a good agent to go this far undercover just to track down someone like her.

"I'm not going back to Hydra. And I refuse to go to SHIELD." Her voice raps out weakly. She doesn't mind being left for dead, but she never wants to be used to harm others. Ever again.

The man scowls and his eyes flash with a strained sense of lost danger. "I have nothing to do with them." He hisses out. " _I_ came for _me._ "

She should be scared. His face is bordering on menacing. But she doesn't care. It doesn't matter. "What do you want?" She asks dully. Before he answers, she hears something that makes her feel her heart beat for the first time in ages. A familiar, mechanical whir that shuttered slightly.

It can't be, she thinks to herself. With a new sense of motivation, she brings herself to her knees and reaches for his left arm, with no regard to whether he felt comfortable with being touched. She may have forgotten what physical contact was like when it isn't to deliver or deflect pain. She feels his eyes drilling into her as she practically forces his sleeve up, revealing a metal arm.

Harley freezes. She knows this arm. She knows this man. His eyes are the same as she remembers, but his appearance is more disheveled, a contrast to the deadly look he adorned when she last saw him. But there's no mistake. In front of her is the greatest project she's ever worked on. And her greatest sin. The itching fear she's been running from for months now.

"Winter Soldier?"

 _ **Please review!**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry if this chapter sucks, I needed to write something to get where I need it to go. Please enjoy and** _ **please**_ **review so I can get some input on if something needs to be fixed or changed or whatever.**

The Winter Soldier is there? Looking for her? Not her, anyone but _her!_ She's not sure how, or when, but she's on the other side of the room, almost hyperventilating.

Harley has no right to talk to him. To make any contact with him. "Get out." Her breath comes out in a broken shudder. "Just leave me alone."

The Soldier shakes his head. He's not just going to leave when he's needs this woman's cooperation. He didn't know what to expect when he found her. But it was never this. This woman looking like a corpse and surrounded by garbage.

He remembers her vaguely, but it's better than nothing. Even if he only remembers her watching from across a room, she's the only person he remembers some sort of connection with other than the man from the bridge and the Helicarrier. Steve, he remembers.

"But, I need your help." The Soldier tries again half ordering, half pleading.

She pauses, her eyes screwed shut, wishing this was another nightmare. That she's just passed out on the floor again. That this man, this _sin_ , was just a drunken figment of her imagination. When she opens her eyes, he's still there, now standing again and looking at her with something akin to concern and urgency. "Why me? What is so important that you need me?"

"I remember you."

At this, Harley flinches, almost violently. How can he want her help when he remembers her? With everything she's done to him, he should be torturing her. Killing her.

"I remember... you watching me." The Soldier continues. "And there was a - a feeling there. I think I knew you."

He doesnt remember the pain she put him through. Only her face. She shakes her head. "You didn't know me." She denies. "You never knew-" Her breath is knocked out of her as she's suddenly knocked to the ground. The Soldier had roughly dragged her to the ground. His real arm holds her securely, while the metal one covers her mouth. His eyes are narrowed at her, warning her to stay silent and she obliges. His eyes leave hers and scan the room, before training on the single window, covered by a dirty towel in place of an actual curtain. He releases her and stealthily makes his way by the window, peering past the make-shift curtain with a gun drawn.

"We have to move. Now." He says after a moment, only loud enough for her to hear. "Any escape routes?"

"Bathroom. There's a window."

He nods, then makes a gesture to her worn out duffel and then to the bathroom. The message was clear. _Escape._

She grabs her bag and does just that, rushing as quietly as she can. Once in the bathroom, she peeks through the window and catches sight of almost invisible shadows blending into the surrounding buildings. Shit. They're surrounded.

She considers going back to warn the Soldier, but why should she? She could easily die right here, just like she wanted. And she wanted nothing to do with him. But, she does owe hin, she supposes, for what she's done to him. Even if he doesn't remember it.

Harley peeks out the door and motions to him. He looks a little confused as to why she hasn't left yet, but complies. "We're surrounded." She explains quietly after he approaches. "You need to get out of here."

His eyes narrow at her form. He noticed that she never said anything about herself escaping. He still needs her help. " _We_ need to get out of here. _You'll_ be killed on your own."

Her eyes went back to the dullness he saw when he first laid eyes on her tonight. "I know. You'll have to find someone else to help with whatever you need, but I've been waiting for my end of the rope. But the least I can do is make sure you escape." She wants to die. That much is evident from her speech. She has no will to live. Being shot down in filthy hotel is what she deserves.

The Soldier's patience is wearing thin. "We're both leaving. Together."

"I'm not going anywhere with you." Harley challenges and glares defiantly at him. A spark of anger flashes through her eyes before it fades.

There's a crack at the door. The sound of it breaking down and multiple pairs of feet coming in. She turns around, ready to exit the bathroom and give into her fate, when a sharp pain strikes the back of her head, sending her into complete darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

When Harley wakes up, she's in the passenger seat of a car and strapped in with both her hands and feet cuffed and her hands are taped closed with black electrical tape. Also, her mouth is gagged. It takes a moment to remember what happened before she was knocked out. The Soldier arriving to her motel room. Being surrounded. Almost ending her life. She narrows her eyes at the last part and turn to the driver seat, just to see who kidnapped her. And she's only vaguely surprised to see the Soldier driving the car.

He's silent as he watches the road. She glances out the windows to see where they are, but they're practically nowhere recognizable. Just driving on some road, surrounded by trees. Lots and lots of trees.

"Are you actually gonna listen to me this time, or are you going to try and get yourself killed again?" He asks and glares from the corner of his eyes. She doesn't answer and pointedly looks away. However, he continues to speak. "As I told you earlier, I need your help. Even though I don't remember much, I remember you from Hydra. And the memory felt positive. If anyone can help me with discovering the rest, it's you."

Her reply is muffled, due to the gag. The Soldier reaches over and removes the tape covering her mouth, and then removes the small rubber ball from her mouth. Once it's out, her gag reflex kicks in and a retching sound escapes her throat, but the only thing that comes out is a bit of saliva, accompanied by a raw, acidic feeling in her throat. Once under control, she glares at him. "Fuck you." She repeats with bitter clarity. "You should have left me."

The Soldier doesn't respond and continues to drive silently. Harley sighs and looks out the window. "Why me? I don't know what you know or remember, but I don't see how I'm the one that plays such a vital role in helping you remember. Isn't there someone else that can be helpful to you?" Someone that's not me, she adds mentally.

"I think I remember someone else. The man on the bridge. My target. Captain America. I knew him."

Yes, she remembers now. Before SHIELD fell and all its dirty secrets leaked on the Internet, she saw a video being displayed in an old bar. Taken on someone's phone of the Winter Soldier and Captain America fighting while surrounded by chaos and destruction. Then a day later, in the same bar, footage of the Helicarriers crashing became viral, along with everything else that came out of it. That was when she really had to go under radar, since her information was also released. Luckily for her, she wasn't considered as important as the Avengers or Hydra agents, so she had a little time to hide even more before authorities wanted to bring her in.

"If you knew Captain America, why not go to him?" She asks. She's irritated. Hungry. And the tape binds are making her hands cramp up. And why is she a better choice than the poster boy of all thing American? She knows they pretty much beat the crap out of each other, but the Cap seems like the forgiving sort. She never met the guy, but the hype makes him seem really nice.

"He was... smaller." He answers, almost painfully. "I don't know, it's just... I know him. But not like that. Fighting him felt... wrong. He was my mission. And my missions are absolute. But, I couldn't. How do I know him?"

She sighs. "I really wouldn't know. But you said he was 'smaller'? Hasn't been small since the 40s, if I remember correctly. But my knowledge on the guy is pretty limited."

"What do you know?"

"Hmm. Well, he grew up during the Great Depression, was super sickly, then took some Super Serum that made him leagues beyond just healthy. Fought in World War II. Went under and was frozen for, what, seventy years? More or less? Came back, joined SHIELD, led Avengers, kicked your ass." She mutters the last part, but he probably heard it anyway. "Why? Just find the guy yourself and leave me out of it."

"There has to be more to him than that." He growls, his real hand tightening on the steering wheel. His metal one resting on the window sill.

"That's all I know. But I heard that there's a huge exhibit on him at the Smithsonian. Supposed to cover just about every detail they could get their hands on. You can start there. Now that that's taken care of, drop me off and leave me alone. Or run me over a good dozen times. I don't give a shit."

"No. You're staying with me." He says simply. "Alive." He adds in warning.

Harley decides to change the subject, since she's obviously gonna be stuck with this guy a while. "How long was I out?"

"Almost nine hours."

"And how many hours have we been driving?"

"Seven."

"Stolen car?"

"Obviously." He scoffs. "Complaints?"

"Not if you have some food on you." She lost some morals during her time on the streets. Especially when it comes to theft. If it's needed and not grounded, it's available. And she's willing to keep secrets for food or booze. Preferably both. And maybe a smoke.

He switches driving hands and reaches across her and into the glove compartment, opens it, and pulls out an unopened bag of chips and drops it on her lap before closing the compartment. When he goes back to driving without a second look at her, she glares at him harshly.

"You bastard, I'm still tied up here. Unless you're planning on hand feeding me, take this damn tape off my hands."

Eyes widening with realization and slight guilt/embarrassment, he pulls the car over to the side of the road and turns towards her, somewhat gently taking her hands and removing the tape and cuffs. "Okay?" He asks.

"No." Harley spats. She is definitely not 'okay' being trapped in a car with a guy she wished she never had to see again. She was perfectly happy being miserable on her own. The Soldier looks a bit upset, but releases her hands and continues to drive.

They drive in silence for another hour or so before pulling up to a gas station. Before exiting the car, he gives her a small warning glare. "No escaping. No talking to anyone. Don't even draw attention to yourself." He orders and then handcuffs her right hand to the door handle. " _Capiche?_ "

" _Capisco._ " She responds with a glare. "But there's a small problem with that." He glares back but nods for her to continue. "I have to pee."

"Is that so?" He challenges, not believing her in the slightest.

"Yes. And if you don't unhook me and let me do my business, I'm gonna piss all over this seat and it won't be a pleasant trip for either of us."

The Soldier's eyes narrow almost dangerously. "You bitch."

"Unhook me."

After uncuffing her hands and feet, he drags her into the store by her hand, looking as casual as possible. In fact, if anyone looked in passing, it would appear to be just a somewhat dirty couple entering together, unaware that the young man was squeezing her hand in a silent warning to not do anything suspicious. Nearly shoving her into the restroom, he walks off, ignoring the middle finger from her hand.

Seeing how it's a single person restroom, she has to move fast unless she wants so angry old lady banging her cane on the door. Once she's done and washing her hands, there's a short rap on the door. "Occupied." She answers.

"It's me." A familiar male voice replies.

"Boy's bathroom is next door."

"Just open the fucking door." He growls.

She mocks him silently, but opens the door only to have a pair of dark blue sweat pants and a tshirt shoved in her arms, along with a brush. "Clean yourself up a little." With a simple nod, she closes the door and changes into the clothes, which she's actually thankful for. They're warm and don't smell like rotting fruit and despair. She also cleaned off her face and brushed her hair. Granted, there's still bags under her eyes and she's a little pale, but now she looks just tired instead of tired and filthy. But she still needs a hot shower.

When she exits the bathroom, her captor is no where in sight. And she's almost elated until he walks back into the store and up to the counter. She sighs, but makes her way to his side with an irritated pout. He actually looks somewhat surprised to see her _willingly_ standing by his side. However, her scowl says she isn't happy about it. "Don't think this is me being cooperative. I still hate you." She spats quietly enough for only him to hear, ignoring the extremely slight look of sadness. "Paying for gas?"

He nods and accepts the change from the cashier and grabs Harley's hand, 'walking' her out of the store, while she muses over the words she spoke earlier. That lie.

That blatant lie.

She may have said that she wasn't being cooperative, but she knew what she was doing. Every twisted truth behind the words: 'I still hate you'. The truths? She's been alone for so long, that this man, the very man she knows that she has no right to he anywhere near, opened her up. Not in an emotional way, where she'll lay bare her life and insecurities in tearful hugs. She opened up physically. Not sexually. Physically. His presence, while unwelcoming, is really comforting. It isn't lonesome. Call it Stockholm syndrome, call it insanity, but it is what it is. Before, her days drifted by in a drunken haze with blurred lines to separate the days. Now, she feels grounded. Granted, it's probably because she's sober. But, there's something else. It's like, the guilt and the anger is keeping her thoughts firm.

She doesn't hate him. She hates the fact that her dependency on the feeling of anger towards herself is more addictive than even the strongest of alcohol. She hates that she owes him so much for things he doesn't remember. And most of all, she fucking hates how whatever deity controls their fate, casted a pair of bloody dice just for them.

She just hates it all.


End file.
